


kiss me at midnight (we’ll be alright)

by freshbloom



Series: everything in its right place [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a happy ending!, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, he is there in spirit i am just stupid and didn't plan this properly afkafh, i am trash and forgot to write will pls dont hate me, starts off a lil sad i’m sorry but the ending is FLUFFY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshbloom/pseuds/freshbloom
Summary: He'd give anything just to see her like this always: El, all hazy in the warm glow of his house. Pale skin and pink lips. Soft eyes and rosy cheeks. She's glowing, with love or happiness or maybe a little of both, and she's real and whole andhere.Or,New Year’s Eve, 1985
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield & Mike Wheeler, Mike Wheeler & Lucas Sinclair & Dustin Henderson & Maxine “Max” Mayfield
Series: everything in its right place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580425
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	kiss me at midnight (we’ll be alright)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serendipitous_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitous_rambles/gifts).



> dedicated to jess!!! happy holidays bb, thank you so much for being my friend and i hope you have a lovely christmas day and happy new year <3 here's too many more mileven chats in 2020. this is my gift for you, it'll never be as good as your mileven fics but i hope you love it nonetheless!!!!

* * *

The Wheeler house, like most days, is so overwhelmingly suffocating Mike feels like he can hardly breathe. Only this time, it's not his parents forcing the discomfort, and it's not the cold he thinks he can sometimes feel wafting through from the basement, it's this goddamn suit, and this goddamn party, and the swarms of people flooding the place. His chest feels all tight and constricted, and even though it’s not a new feeling for him—he's almost always forcing down a swell of panic—it's too much to bear right now. The music and the drones of conversation and the constant awareness of the press of bodies around him is the perfect breeding ground for his anxiety, and he doesn't know what to do or how to make it stop. 

He's sat on the living room couch, tugging at his suit tie every little while and wondering where the hell his friends have gone. They were all together an hour ago, clustered by the kitchen counter, complaining in low voices and forcing smiles on their faces whenever his Mom had walked in. It was her idea to host the new year's eve party in the first place, just like she does every year. Her idea to force her kids into formal dress wear, tell them to invite all their friends and the neighbours and pretend like entering a new year in this fucked up town was worth celebrating at all. He hadn't had the heart to tell her that he'd much rather spend new year's eve in his bed, tucked away and asleep by 9pm, oblivious to the change in time. 

But he'd told his friends to come over anyway, and they'd all half-heartedly agreed that in their depressed haze there was nothing better to do, so why the hell not. No one had anticipated how lonely it would all be--with two of their friends still gone and the four of them surrounded by adults who would never care for or understand anything they were suffering through. He'd tried to ask El to come over the phone, but she'd mumbled something about everyone being too busy to drive over (he's tried incessantly over the past week to ignore the part of him that thinks she sounded mostly like she just didn't want to come). 

So it's just the four of them, alone. Or at least it had been earlier, but at some point Lucas and Max had slipped away on their own, and Dustin, eyes still lingering on their joint hands, had mumbled something about going to find more appetizers, and Mike had ended up in the living room, slumped over on the couch and on the verge of panicking but too exhausted to do anything about it. He feels drunk, somehow, sleepy and checked out, even though he hasn't had anything to drink. It's how he feels most days, but it's amplified here, like he's sitting just outside of his body, floating somewhere between awareness and unconsciousness. 

_Maybe I should go look for them_ , he thinks. He's just about to get up when all of a sudden Max appears, pushing her way through the crowds, spotting him on his own on the couch and beelining towards him. She flops down beside him, scowling slightly, frizzy red hair scraped up into a ponytail and arms crossed over the sparkly red sweater she's been complaining about wearing all night. She turns her head for a second, glancing at him before leaning back against the couch with a scoff. 

“You look like shit.” She deadpans, taking in the flush of nerves high on his face, the way his hair is curling slightly out of sweat and humidity, the tie hanging loosely around his neck. 

“Screw you.” He snaps, but there's no real anger behind it. He's still not always sure where the two of them stand, but the past few months have dwindled their arguing down into something that feels a little more like understanding. Maybe they're not best friends, not yet, but Mike is sad, and Max is sad, and he doesn’t want their sadness to mix together and create something worse, something heavy that the both of them can’t carry. There's nothing left to argue about, anyway. Not when all of it is so fucking pointless. 

"This sucks." She says from beside him, breaking the silence they'd settled into for a little while. "Why the hell did we decide to come to this thing?"

"I didn't really have a choice," He sighs. "And if I'm suffering than the rest of you are, too." 

"Yeah, well, thanks a lot asshole." She murmurs. Mike snorts, reaching over to tug on a strand of her hair, grinning when she scowls and bats his hand away. 

"Anytime, Mayfield." They drift back into silence again, staring out at the party and watching the people that pass through. At some point, Lucas drifts into the room, waving when he sees the two of them, his eyes lingering on Max. He takes a step toward them, making his way to the back of the living room where they've hidden themselves when he's cut off by Dustin, barreling towards him suddenly all excited and grinning. 

Beside Mike, Max groans slightly, sliding down lower on the couch so that she's out of Lucas' field of vision. Mike looks between the two of them—Lucas, with his eyes flitting back in their direction over Dustin's shoulder, lips pulled down into a frown, and Max, practically laying down in her effort to avoid his gaze, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment—and furrows his brow in confusion. 

"What?" He questions, nudging her arm with his own. "Why are you avoiding Lucas?"

"I'm _not_ ," She bites back, a little too forcefully. 

Mike frowns. "Are you gonna break up with him again or something?" He’s half-joking when he says it, his stomach twisting uncomfortably when Max winces. 

“No. ” She says, turning her head to glare at him. Then, sighing, “Maybe...I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“That’s like, four different answers.” He scoffs, leaning forward and turning to the side to look at her properly. Max rolls her eyes, but he can tell she's upset, or at least nervous. Her knee is bouncing up and down repeatedly and she's gnawing unconsciously at her lip, eyes determinedly looking everywhere but in Lucas' general direction. 

“I’m just confused," She says, softly. "Nothing makes sense right now.” 

Mike nods. “Yeah, I get it.” He doesn’t think a day has gone by since the summer when his head hasn’t felt dizzied with uncertainty. (Except when he’s with El. Being around her is like waking up again—she’s the only clarity he thinks he’ll ever need for the rest of his life.) 

“How do you and El do it?” 

“Do what?”

“You two are always so sure about each other.” Max turns toward him, eyes wide and earnest and searching his desperately for some sort of answer he doesn’t think he has. Awkwardly, he leans back, shrugging. His whole body has gone cold with discomfort and the panic is building in his chest again and all he can think about is El’s timid, drawn back voice on the phone, _Sorry Mike, I just can't make it._

He can’t look at Max, because then she’ll see he’s so scared that he might be the only one who’s sure—that the distance will cut through them in ways they can’t fix this time, and he’ll be all alone in this town until it finally swallows him whole the way it so desperately wants to. 

“I guess I was wrong before.” Max pipes up again. 

Mike blinks, looking up again. He didn’t realize he’d left her without a reply. “Wrong about what?”

She glances at him for a second before looking away. “When I said you treat her like garbage.” 

“Yeah,” He agrees. “But I _was_ being a dick.” Max smiles slightly, and Mike smiles back, and the two of them feel just a little more like friends. 

“And anyway...El and I are just different.” He offers, shrugging again. It brings him some comfort to say it out loud. They’re different. They don’t end. It’ll be okay.

Max rolls her eyes. “Okay well not everyone can be madly in love, or whatever.” 

Mike blushes, both gratified and embarrassed by her phrasing. "I just mean we've been through shit normal couples don't really deal with." 

She nods, offering a half smile before staring out into the living room again. Something goes still between them then, and he feels how lonely they both are, how lonely everyone in this house is, like all the world and its sadness is a physical presence in this room, another guest at the party all dressed up and waiting for midnight, for a new year, for more days ahead to burn to the ground. The dim, hazy glow of lights and the music filling up all the quiet space, clinks of glasses and snippets of conversation, forced laughter and people caving in on themselves without notice. It's all threatening to make him keel over and start crying. 

"Come on," He mumbles, standing up. "Let's grab Dustin and Lucas and get the fuck out of here."

* * *

As it turns out, getting out of here really just means retreating down into the basement. They're scattered around the place, door locked shut and a smuggled bottle of champagne slowly making its way around the room. Mike is sprawled out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying his best to ignore the blanket fort to his left. Max and Lucas are up on the couch—Max with her legs up against the wall and her head hanging off the end—and Dustin's camped out on top of the coffee table, legs crossed and head in his hands as he complains loudly. It feels safer somehow, like away from the crowds the four of them have become something whole again, even with their missing parts. 

"God," Dustin sighs, swallowing another sip of champagne and wiping his hand across his mouth. "I can't believe this is gonna be my fifteenth year in a row with no new year's kiss."

"Why didn't you invite Suzie-poo?" Max snorts. 

"Fuck off," Dustin mumbles, flipping her off. "I didn't wanna."

"Yeah, like I would've wanted her over here in the first place," Mike scoffs, raising himself up on his elbows to look at him. 

"You haven't even met her asshole!"

"I know," Mike laughs. "I'm trying real hard to keep it that way."

"Wait a minute," Lucas pipes up, gesturing for the bottle and taking a sip. "Were you seriously counting the years when you were a baby?"

"Uh, yeah," Dustin says. "My whole life without one kiss at midnight."

"Oh my god, Dustin, you were a fucking _child_ , that does not count."

"It counts to me!"

"It's bullshit anyway," Max says, throwing her hands up. "Like kissing someone is somehow going to make your year better." She sits up again, face flushed from hanging upside down and from the alcohol. She throws Lucas a sideways glance before sliding over a little, stretching her legs out so they're draped over his lap. Mike offers her a smile across the room, glad that she's trying her best not to push Lucas away, at least for now. 

"Mike and El seem to swear by it." Dustin points out. Mike scowls, turning towards him again. He feels a little dizzy, somehow, even though he knows none of them have had even remotely enough champagne to be drunk. His head is spinning though, just the slightest bit, enough to be off putting. 

"Can we leave me and El out of this?" 

"I'm just saying," Dustin chimes, shrugging. "The way you two go at it you'd think kissing could cure, I don't know, cancer or something."

"Man, shut the fuck up." 

Mike's watch beeps, suddenly. He looks down, stomach sinking at the numbers glaring up at him: _11:55_. Five minutes until a new year. He doesn't know why it's making his heart hurt, the whole idea of it—three hundred sixty five more days he has to wake up and brave. It would all feel a little easier with El here, and maybe Max is right, maybe kissing someone at midnight can't change all the fucked up shit the next year will force him to cope with. But starting it off like this, without her around, feels a little too much like 1984. Like when she was gone and he thought that by the end of it he would be, too. 

"Someone pass me the bottle," He murmurs, gulping it down when Lucas hands it over. He's mid-drink when a knock sounds from the door upstairs. Mike panics, choking and coughing loudly and pulling the bottle away from his mouth hastily. 

"Oh fuck," He spits out. The knocking sounds again, more urgently this time. Dustin, Lucas and Max scramble to sit up properly, taking the champagne from Mike and shoving it into a corner of the couch, throwing a pillow over it so it doesn't show.

"Coming, Mom!" Mike calls up, getting up, swaying on the spot and hoping his Mom won't smell the alcohol on his breath. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he runs up the stairs, cursing when he trips up a few of them along the way. He takes a deep breath when he gets to the door, nervous but prepared to face the trouble if his Mom does know anything off. With one more knock from behind the door, Mike pulls it open. 

"Holy shit," He lets out. Grinning at him, hand raised to knock again, face burning red and breathing heavily, is El. Her hair is curled and hanging around her shoulders, lips glossed up and eyes dusted with glittery eye-shadow. He's so flooded with relief he can't remember what it's like to feel anything else, to look at anything but her and know that she's it; the only beauty in the world. He'd give anything, let the world run itself into the ground and suffer wound after searing wound, sit back and watch it all go to shit, _fuck it_ , just to see her like this always: El, all hazy in the warm glow of his house. Pale skin and pink lips. Soft eyes and rosy cheeks. She's glowing, with love or happiness or maybe a little of both, and she's real and whole and _here_.

"Mike," She says, breathless. 

"You're here." He whispers, reaching up to hold her hand. "You're really here."

She grins, taking a step down so she's closer. "I'm here."

Mike blinks, squeezes her hand. He keeps opening and closing his mouth stupidly, at a loss for words. Finally, he settles on, "How?"

"Oh, um, Joyce drove." She looks down shyly, sighing. "Mike, I'm really sorry."

"Huh?"

"I totally lied over the phone, and I could tell you were upset but I swear I was just trying to surprise you—" She's rambling, something so rare from El Mike can barely even react. But he's not really paying attention, anyway, because he's suddenly heard something from upstairs: a chorus of voices counting down. _13, 12, 11..._

"So I said Joyce couldn't drive but she really could, and I hope you're not mad or anything,"

_10, 9, 8_

"And I'm sorry I'm late, we tried really hard to make it on time but we kept getting held back—"

_7, 6, 5_

"Like first Will forgot to pack the camera, so we had to turn back and then—"

"El," Mike cuts off suddenly, smiling at her. 

"Yeah?" She mumbles, blushing. _4, 3, 2, 1_. Mike leans in and kisses her, heart pounding, lips moving against her own as the world explodes into cheers and celebration around them. He pulls her in even closer, arms wrapping around her waist whilst hers go around his neck. Kissing her feels a little like coming home, like sunlight, and he thinks that this is it, this is enough to make everything better, always, forever. Breathless, he pulls back, resting his forehead against her own and smiling. 

"Hi," He whispers, pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Hi," She whispers back, giggling slightly. 

"I can't believe you're really here."

"Well, believe it." She smiles, poking his cheek. 

Mike shakes his head. “I think I'd better double check just to make sure." He says, pulling back to pepper kisses all across her face. El laughs, trying her best to squirm out of his hold while he kisses her, lips brushing over her cheeks, forehead, nose. He makes his way back to her lips, smiling into the kiss and holding her tighter. 

"Can you two stop being gross and come downstairs already?" Lucas calls up.

Mike rolls his eyes, pulling away. Gently, he tugs at El's hand, leading her down the stairs.

He stops for a second, turning back to look at her over his shoulder. "Happy new year, El."

El presses one last kiss to his cheek. "Happy new year, Mike."

**Author's Note:**

> if u see me ending my fics with cliches and cheesy lines mind UR BUSINESS. no seriously i'm so sorry about the ending aklfahf but i hope u all enjoyed the rest!! and happy holidays, hope everyone is having a lovely day whether or not you celebrate anything!! 
> 
> until next time, find me on tumblr @milesfairchild


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